Free Magi'I of Cyador by L. E. Modesitt Jr. Page B

His father-all the Magi'i-live and work where the truth, or falsehood, of every word they utter can be sensed and used in one fashion or another-at least by the most talented of the Magi'i. That understanding breeds caution even in settings that others might consider safe from scrutiny.
    "The need for more lancers means a need for more junior officers, and that affords you an opportunity." This time, his father's smile is more complete. "Although Luss'alt and I do not, shall we say, see exactly eye to eye, he needs more capable junior officers, and he has heard of your skills with a blade. He has not heard of where you have been... such as this afternoon. I would not repeat such a visitation as that before you leave Cyad, no matter what her charms may be."
    "Yes, ser. Thank you. Very much. I will do my best."
    "I'm sure you will. And in the Mirror Lancers, success is measured more by ability than by attitude." Kien'elth laughs. "Not totally... but more."
    "I understand." Lorn also understands the warning. The Mirror Lancers are no different from the Magi'i, except that most Lancer officers cannot truthread, and therefore must judge more by actions than by hidden intent revealed by truthreading.
    "You will leave for Kynstaar tomorrow. There will be a firewagon departing from the school. You will doubtless face some difficulties, there, but... you have surmounted such before, and I have every confidence that you will again."
    "Yes, ser." Lorn nods.
    Kien'elth stands slowly. "I wish..." He shrugs apologetically.
    Lorn also stands. "I know, ser. It's not your doing."
    "I can still wish, my son."
    Lorn lowers his head for a moment.
    After he leaves the study, Lorn walks slowly along the covered portico of the upper level of the house, pausing to look southward through the rain that is beginning to taper off toward the gray stormy waters of the harbor, waters more often than not usually an intense blue, with the intensity of the water's color underscored by the white sunstone piers. Today, the piers are gray, like the sky and the water.
    Then he descends one level and slips toward the rear of the dwelling. There, he pauses before the closed door of his older sister's chambers.
    "You can come in, Lorn," Jerial calls.
    He opens the heavy oak door, slowly, and closes it behind him.
    As usual, Jerial wears a form-fitting tunic-this one of a silky black that shows her petite but well-endowed figure. She stands beside a polished white oak table desk that is almost empty, and her eyes are intent as she studies Lorn. Beyond the narrow archway, Lorn sees the bed chamber, with the dark blue coverlet set neatly on the narrow bed, and the tables as neat as the sitting room where they stand.
    "Dice?" Lorn looks at the six white cubes on his sister's table. "I suppose there's the uniform of a beardless junior lancer in your wardrobe?"
    "No." Jerial smiles back. "That of a young merchanter, a spoiled youth who has more coins than sense. Someone who loses most of the time, but loses little, and wins seldom, but well. Not, shall we say, a scholarly enumerator."
    Lorn looks from the dice to the wardrobe and then back to the dice.
    "Why not?" asks Jerial. "I can be a healer, or a brood mare. Neither will gain me golds nor independence."
    "You have the golds invested in the Exchange?" Lorn raises his eyebrows.
    "No. The Bank of the Clanless Traders. There's no interest, but far fewer questions."
    "Something like Jeron'mer?"
    "You might say so," Jerial replies, "but I'd appreciate your not asking."
    "In case you're forced into being a brood mare? So I can't reveal anything to father?"
    Jerial nods, then smiles wryly. "I like Cyad, Lorn, but not enough to consort with someone I detest. So far, I've managed to steer father away from people like Ciesrt...."
    "I see." His sister's words remind Lorn-again-that he has yet to do anything about the impending consorting of Myryan to Ciesrt. His eyes light on Jerial's face, taking in the determined and set chin,